A year has passed swiftly!
The night is as dark as ink, thick enough to swallow everything.
In the hall of the Lu Family residence, a flickering candlelight casts two solitary shadows on the walls.
Sitting upright at the head seat, Lu Jiahe's fingers grip the armrest tightly, causing his knuckles to turn slightly white.
Time has unmercifully carved deep lines across his brow, each groove telling tales of past hardships.
Yet at this moment, these deep furrows cannot conceal the intense tremor in Lu Jiahe's eyes.
Standing before him is Lu Xuan, dressed in dark robes, with eyes resembling unfathomable deep pools, calm yet secretly turbulent.
After a few breaths, Lu Xuan slowly speaks.
"Father, tomorrow, I will commence my spiritual retreat."
Lu Xuan's voice is neither loud nor low, steady and powerful, like a heavy hammer carrying immense force, smashing onto Lu Jiahe's heart.
Every word that follows is weighty.
